Monday November 11, 1974

Nice day. Eileen promises me the use of her camera for Wednesdays conquering of Bradford by the Queen of England. Talking about conquering, I wonder whether Bradford was actually ever conquered by the Normans, or indeed by anyone else? London, York, Hastings and Wessex were over-run by different tribes of foreigners throughout the Medieval and Dark Ages, but what about grimy little Bradford? I feel very strongly about this. Certainly, William the Conqueror would have cared very little about whether the dwelling of Bradford was a safe catch or not. Had he ever heard of the place? One pictures the scene:-
(enter messenger, falling on his knees)
Messenger: "Sire, I have news from the North".
Conqueror: "Speak, dog."
Messenger: "Oh Sire! Tis news, My Lord, of Bradford!"
Conqueror: "Where?"
Messenger: "Bradford, Sire!"
Conqueror: "Piss off, mate. I've got more urgent things to worry about than news from such northerly parts. Anyway, I thought you'd had the 'flu of late?"
Messenger: Oh, it was nothing, Your Grace. Just a touch of cold it was. Nice of you to mention it though, Sire. It's always such a pleasure to be able to work for such a fab regime. Did you see that in the papers about the nasty King Harold? It was so awful....."
Conqueror: "Off with his head."

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Sunday November 10, 1974

22nd after Trinity. Remembrance Sunday again. Wonder whether this is going to go on indefinately until the end of time. In seventy years time no survivors of any of the world wars will be left and I suppose it will become a little less important. Not that we can ever forget those who died in order that we can all live freely, because if we do it will be the ultimate in selfishness. Yes, Remembrance Day is a good thing.

Up at 12. Papa wallpapers the kitchen &continues after lunch. We all sit in front of the TV until about 6, when the top 20 begins.

When the Queen comes to Bradford next Wednesday I intend having the day off to lend my support to the monarchical cause. It will be my first viewing of the Sovereign on Yorkshire soil. I must persuade Sue to accomapny me. It will be an experience for her.

See TV all evening and the Gadsby clan come at about 8. Mum, Dad, Auntie Hilda and Uncle Tony go to Esholt and John goes off with Chris and Carol. I sit with Diane and Jill. Little Di is an absolute dear and completely transformed from the obnoxious horror of a couple of years ago.

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Saturday November 9, 1974

Birth of Edward VII, 1841. Lynn wakes me at the usual time. Feel dreadful as I usually do on a Saturday morning. Have my usual orange juice and ticking off from Lynn about getting drunk the night before 'all these late nights can't be doing you any good', &c. Work until 4 o'clock. Carol didn't come until nearly 12 because she overslept & she stayed with me for a couple of hours. Haven't heard anything since Thursday about her and Michael having a ridiculous divorce, though once the seeds of destruction are sown I can see nothing but trouble and chaos ahead. Home at 4.

Hear from Mum that Dad's new job with the CID is no more. The Chief Superintendent came to see him this morning and more or less told him to get lost as far as his future in the force is concerned. He's positively choked about it. Refuse categorically to go out tonight and almost succeed in my aim.

Sit by the tv with Mum until 11 o'clock watching the Festival of Remembrance from the (Royal) Albert Hall. The Queen, Duke of Edinburgh, Queen Mother, Duke of Gloucester, Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke and Duchess of Kent in the royal box. The poor Duke of Edinburgh looked ill and positively ancient. At 53 he should have at least 20 years of life left in him, but by the way he was standing tonight I can't see him doing so.

At nearly 11 John, Peter and Keith call in and drag me off to the Cow & Calf where we live it up until 2. Keith drank himself idiotically under the table and he sat unconscious in the car for ten minutes before driving us home. 25MPH all the way!

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Friday November 8, 1974

Someone from the EP newsdesk came over this morning asking what we know about Lady Lucan. I filled in the details. She is of course the Countess of Lucan. 'But is she Lady Lucan or Countess of Lucan?' he asks. I told him to start with Countess and drop to Lady in the second par. It seems that the Lucan nanny has been found murdered this morning and the countess herself is critically ill. The police are looking for the earl 'who cannot be contacted'. You can bet your bottom dollar that His Lordship has done away with the nanny and then attempted to kill her Ladyship. We'll have to wait and see.

Lord Lucan.

To the Hare & Hounds and then Wikis in the evening with Dave Lawson amongst the usual set. It's the first time Dave's been to our Friday night spot, and I can't say he didn't enjoy it because he did. I drank guinness for most the night and was sick twice. John went home alone quite early without giving any explanation for this anti-social action. Dave brought me home at 1.30 and we sat in the lounge discussing our childhood escapades together and laughing ourselves silly. Bed at 2.30.










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Thursday November 7, 1974

Day off. Up at about 10 and do nothing until about 11. Dad goes to Morrison's on a wild goose chase for something called sugar, a crystal-like substance believed to have been extinct for 200m years. Whether he'll get any or not is a debatable point, and I don't hang around to find out. Go into work arriving at 10 after 12. Kathy passes on a message from Sarah who is spending her lunch hour at Whitelocks. I join them at about 20 past. Carol sits brooding over a gin and tonic. She says Michael asked her for a divorce the other day because he wants to enjoy himself before he grows too old. I consider this to be a bloody liberty. Michael Johnson may well be only 22 but he's married now and it's his own silly fault if he's now got cold feet. I despise weakness and half-heartedness where marriage is concerned. I don't give a damn about how people treat one another when they aren't united in Holy wedlock, but when the plunge is taken it really should be forever, commanding love and respect on both sides. The character of Michael Johsnon is not to be desired. Home at nearly 3 to see 'The Forsyte Saga' on TV. Have fish and chips followed by crumpets for lunch.

Hear on the 6 o'clock news that dear old Sir Alec Douglas-Home is now ennobled with a peerage once again. Will he be Lord Home or Lord Douglas-Home, I don't know. It's only a feeble life peerage of course, not the real thing.

Haven't heard from Lynne all week and am not going to bother ringing her either. She's going off on Friday_____. See Monty Python which gives us all cronic hysteria as usual, then see the corny Evening Standard Film Awards where Glenda Jackson is to be seen receiving lots of medals, trophies and acclaim, from an audience consisting of 300 drunken film extras in evening dress.

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Wednesday November 6, 1974

A horrible day. Carol doesn't come in at all, and Kathy is off all day. Sarah and I laugh and joke about last night. Find a letter on my desk from the mass murderess Judith Theresa Ward to her brother and sister-in-law. Tommy Ward must have sent it in to editorial for publication and it's somehow found it's way to my desk. I reproduce the contents here in my diary.

(Letter from Judith Ward transcribed in full).

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Tuesday November 5, 1974

Bonfire Night, &c, &c.

YP all day and then go to Birstall on the bus with Sarah, Michael Johnson and Carol. Michael and I make a 'Guy Fawkes' with old clothes whilst the girls mess about in the kitchen.

Start drinking at about 8 o'clock when the fire is lit, and in the space of two and a half hours Sarah and I polish off a bottle of Cinzano Bianco and a further half bottle of Dry Martini. As you may well imagine, Sarah had to sit down, being unable to stand any longer, and by midnight she could think of nothing else other escaping to a dark room and sleep. I joined her on Carol's bed where we lay shivering with cold 'neath Sarah's black fur coat. We debate for ages on how exactly Carol and Michael can possibly sleep under such conditions. We arrive at the conclusion that the Johnsons are a good deal larger, and undoubtedly more passionate than we are, and this can be the only reason. Sarah goes off into a southern drawl when she's intoxicated and it sounds acutely comical. We're in bed until 2am and Michael wakes us when our taxi arrives.

Home at a quarter to three with the picture of Sarah's lips firmly embedded upon my mind forever. The amiable lady in the taxi looked far less attractive when she asked for her £3.90 fare. To bed feeling horribly drunk and remember, but only vaguely, being sick. I blame the pate which I devoured - liver never agrees with me.

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